Gideon's Files
by butimnotdeadyet
Summary: Sara can't contain her curiosity when it comes to a particular Legend and she gets caught red handed. T for talk of past abuse
**Disclaimer: As much as I wish that I wrote for WB/CW/DC, I do not, nor I do own these beautiful, angry rouges.**

Gideon's Files

Sara had the time, more than enough, in fact, with the rest of the team doing their separate mission prep, but that didn't keep her from casting a glance over her shoulder as she walked up to Gideon's main interface. Her nerves almost betrayed her as she had to quell small sigh when she confirmed that she was completely alone. What she was doing wasn't wrong, of course, or perhaps it was, her morals had long since stretched past the borders of a normal person, but she really just wanted to know.

She tapped a finger on the far corner of the screen, watching the glass-like surface come to life and hearing the distinct feminine voice of their AI greet her, asking how she could assist. Sara returned the greeting but insisted that she would search the database herself, familiar with the program's tendency to give more information than necessary if reporting in corporeal form and the last thing Sara needed was to happen across private information. Well, more private than what she was already searching, at least.

All she needed was a picture. It would have to be from years ago, probably from long before he had become what he was now. Maybe the early 2000s, the 90s just in case. So that was the search, his name and a span of years.

And she came up with nothing.

A half dozen or so news article, from this trial or that, a few police files, and a blurry security camera still frame that she was certain wasn't him (it was far too sloppy of a job, even for his early career), but nothing that helped satisfy her curiosity.

She expanded her search parameters to include that late 80s and, by God, he looked so young. He was always built the same, a muscular thin on a tall frame, but oddly deceiving when it came to his height. There was more to work with here, but none of the photos helped, needing to be tossed out for one reason or another, but she continued to tab through them.

There was one photo near the end of the results from some time in the winter of '87, in a place that was definitely not Central City (judging by the four feet of snow he was standing in) and it did nothing to answer her question, but made her pause nonetheless. It was taken around midday, with him bundled up head to toe in cold weather gear not quite as dark as the ones he wears now, but close, and he looked pretty much the same. But it was the first time Sara had seen him with _her_.

She was tiny, five, six years old at the most, and smiling from ear to ear. Lisa. It had to be; Sara had only seen him smiling like he was in the picture when he talked about his little sister. But the assassin hadn't realized how little she was, compared to him. They had to have more than a decade between them, with her standing just a little taller than his hip and him protectively holding her hand, likely trying to keep her from running off into the snow. They were thinner than either should have been at their ages, but that wasn't where their similarities ended. Their jawlines and noses, despite Lisa's youth, were mirror images, as was the pose they both struck at what seemed to be an impromptu photo-op. His eyes appeared to have just slid towards the camera, no doubt by call of whoever was behind it, while her's were still focused on him, looking up with her mouth open in the middle of telling her brother something obviously very important to her in that moment.

Sara smiled to herself and slid the image off to the side before moving on through the files. Flicking to the next picture, she realized the events of the snow day must have been a truly rare occasion because the next photos belonged to the same day and are the only ones in the list taken in his time outside of Juvie and school. The second is like the first, just the two of them, except now Lisa is trying to climb her brother like a rock wall and he has taken half a step back to support the two of them on the icy ground with a look on his face that says 'Yes, this happens all the time and she only does it because she thinks it annoys me.' The third moment is a snap of an accomplished looking Lisa astride her brother's neck and him smiling wide as he tried to keep his laughing face off camera. It was the most normal and happy she had ever seen him and both new pictures were dragged into the corner with their predecessor for safe keeping.

The last picture in the file was from the same day, but the perspective was different. Now they were inside what looked to be a roadside diner, a little dingy, but well lit, and joined by a stunning woman who looked to be in about her early forties. She and Lisa were on his right hand side, with the latter perched on his hip. The older pair smiled, though his was much more forced than it had been in the day's earlier moments, and hers was invaded by well timed cheek kiss from the little girl twisting her torso off of her brother. The woman was most definitely the mother. She and Lisa could have been mistaken for sisters, not many notable differences between them, except for Mrs. Snart's markedly softer features. But then came a new question, trumping the desire of the one that brought Sara to the table in the first place: who was _his_ mother? Not this woman, they didn't share a single feature apart from their obvious proximity to Lisa, although a case could be made for their complexions. His eye shape, lips, and widows peak were nowhere to be seen on her, even her ears, visible under the edges of her hat, were different. Sara had seen his father and though there were a few obvious traits, there was too wide of a phenotypic gap to account for. She slid it into the 'keep' pile to investigate later.

"Snooping, Assassin?" His voice shot out clear around the room and she froze, one hand having already flown to the dagger she kept hidden in the lining of her jacket, before before recognizing a friend and not a foe. She counted off two beats, spinning to meet his great him with a smirk before her eyes widened in realization at how close he had gotten without her noticing. He was standing, arm crossed, no more than six feet away. In clear view of the display screen at her hip, but with his eyes trained on her, she took the moment to swipe her hand across the screen, clearing the search.

"I believe it's called recon by your kind, Crook. Running through the schematics for the loft Rip having us break into later tonight." She winked and shifted her weight against the table to look more at ease than she felt, but he stepped forward until he leaning next to her and she felt a jolt run through her body.

"Really, well then, why didn't Gideon tell me? Guess that saves me the trouble of having to scan in the copy I nabbed out of city records this morning." He smirked.

 _Of course_ , she thought, _you can weave seamless lies in the face of any interrogation technique, but as soon as the thief shows up, you revert to a teenage with their hand around a half drunk bottle of vodka._

"I guess that's why I couldn't find them in the system, then. That's what I get for trying to be proactive about our assignment."

"If you didn't find anything, than my stealth skills must have gone through the roof in the past 12 hours, because I seem to recall you telling me last night that these," he gestured down to his thick leather boots, "were liable to get us caught by the low rent security guard due to their tendency to make me sound like 'the world's most ambitious, burglarizing elephant', was it? Or did something distract you, Canary?"

"Oh, I didn't say hello the moment you walked in so you obviously got the best of me, is that right?" Sara pushed off the interface table and started to storm off towards the bunking quarters, trying to the end the conversation with her supposed annoyance.

"No. . ." he replied in a tone that caused her to look back and see him crane his head back to look at the display behind him before double tapping on the surface, "just wondering what intrigued you so much about my jail-bait self." All four snow day picture were now projected over his shoulder. "Care to explain?" He didn't say it antagonistically, like she feared, but out of actual curiosity.

He straightened back up and moved to stand by her, taking in the full images. She shifted as he approached, landing on the more defensive side of casual.

"I wanted to know something. But, I found these instead." She turned to glance at him, seeing if he had caught her evasion. The curl of his lips told her he had, but she moved on. "Snart, who is she?"

"Well, since you seen Lisa's picture more than enough times to recognize even a younger version of her, I'm going to assume you mean Alice." He didn't wait for a confirmation. "She was Lisa's mother, and for most intents and purposes, mine." Now it was his turn to check for a response and Sara's slightly raise eyebrow was all he need to continue.

"She married my father when I was ten. Biggest mistake she ever made, but it gave me a sister, so it wasn't all a crap shot. It was a good thing my birth mother died when she did." Now he did pause, but Sara didn't say anything. He had never alluded to he and Lisa being anything but full siblings, or that he had lost his mother so young; she didn't want to ask the wrong question and have him lock up again.

He stood taking in the pictures for several seconds eyes sliding back and forth across each several times before he sighed. "I had no idea they were on any sort of record, let alone here. Still wouldn't have if the interface in the study hadn't synced with this one. Not wholly on its own accord, I might add." Sara scowled, reading between the lines to realize the AI had ratted on her, "I could see you going through the photos. I'd thought they'd been lost in some old hardcopy file. Serves me right to think that day had gone undocumented."

Sara hesitated before asking why.

He is face turned cold and Sara was seconds away from backtracking to a safer topic until he said, "It was one of those rare, horrible days where some of your best memories coexist with your worst. She," he said while gesturing towards Alice in the fourth picture, "took us to the mountains where she grew up, wanted Lisa to see snow for the first time." He huffed out a breath that may have been meant to be an unenthusiastic laugh, "And she wouldn't have even taken me if it weren't for the fact that I had been released from Juvie a month earlier and Lisa still refused to go anywhere without me. It was a good day, far away from our father, just the three of us, Lisa being just as chaotic as always. That was the first day that I think Alice saw me as something other than a delinquent, she even got a server at our lunch spot to take that picture." He fell silent and shifted his weight so that he leaned away from Sara. She timed her movement with his, reaching out a hand just barely brushed the fabric of his jacket to keep him from leaving.

"And the worst part?" She asked quietly, not sure if it was because he needed to say it or she wanted to hear it.

He closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again, but he continued. "That night we got home and my father pulled his most asshole move to date. He locked Alice in a bathroom and set to work." He moved while he talked, pushing back the front left panel of his jacket and raising the hem of the sweater beneath it just high enough for Sara to make out a long, knotted scar running diagonally from the point of his hip to just under his ribcage. "It was the first night that he went after Lisa when he was done with me. Gave her a nice one on her back because she ran away. Alice fell off the map about six months later, didn't even try to take Lisa with her."

Sara's hand was already extending towards him when he moved to lower the clothing back into place. She laid a her free hand on his wrist, asking to let her see when her clear blue eyes met his startled ones. He slowly nodded, keeping hold of the jacket while she steadied them both with her left hand against his stomach before tracing the mark with the fingertips of her right. She could make out the entry point, noting that the whatever blade it had been was dull and sawed its way downwards, ending only when it struck his bone.

Being who she was, Sara had seen, owned, and inflicted countless scars. Recently when she saw them, she would think of the story, or the weapon, but rarely ever the pain associated with them. More likely a side effect of her damaged soul than her desensitizing, but when she thought of the bleeding and damaged teen Crook, she could feel her eyes prick hotly before the water started collecting. She kept them at bay, more for his sake than her's, and continued her investigation.

He stood as still as possible, trying to think of something beside the fact that he had just revealed one of his worst scars to her, of all people, the damned _assassin_. Others had seen it, of course, (some had even seen all of his extensive collection) but something about this little peep show had him high strung. Standing there, in nearly the center of a common room, looking at pictures of a far more innocent Lisa and a far less scared version of himself, and feeling Sara's hands carefully examining his skin, he felt exposed.

"What did he use? It doesn't look like any blade I've used."

His eyes narrowed, "I wish I knew. He slammed me into a mirror on the wall first, nearly knocked me out. Didn't even know that," he nodded down, "was coming until I heard Lisa scream."

When she noticed a slight tremor move through his body, she stopped, straightened up and pretended she hadn't felt it move from his body to hers and instead nudged his hand as an all clear. They stood closer now, but she quickly reclaimed her spot beside him. He nodded and cleared his throat slightly, willing himself to ignore the pity that she couldn't quite hide before asking her what she had been looking for in the first place. Her brow furrowed, trying to remember her original intentions, and then she recalled and a slight blush made its way up her neck, which he only noticed because he was looking everywhere but her eyes.

"I- it was stupid, I just wanted to know what, um…" All of the fortitude she had displayed was gone in a moment as she trailed off with a glance at him, hoping to be let off the hook due to the intimacy they had just shared, but the set of his jaw told her otherwise. "I wanted to see your hair," she said, wincing slightly with a weak hand wave in the general, upward direction.

His head ticked to the side in response. "You see my hair everyday, Canary, unless you are incredibly unobservant."

"No, Snart. I mean, it's not like you popped out of the womb with a full head of silver . . . Did you?" She had wanted it to be a joke, but the uncertainty in her voice made her remark ring with real inquiry. He skated over it with a lulled look before remarking.

"Well then, are you satisfied?" He asked with a nod to the images.

Sara rolled her eyes, "No, you either have it shaved into nothing or wear a hat in every single one of these." He let out a chuckle.

"That wasn't by accident. But, I guess this means you really are that unobservant, Lance. Might want to look at the last picture again."

She zeroed in on his younger self once again in an attempt to see what she had apparently missed. He watch in amusement as she realized her mistake and she scoffed so loudly that he very nearly took personal offense.

The black beanie he had worn in the first three picture was now hanging from his sister's hand and what Sara had perceived as the hat sitting on his head was instead a mass of jet black curls.

"Oh. . ."

"'Oh' is right, Lance. I realized pretty early on that they were are too much of pain to deal with, so I buzzed them all off and have kept it short ever since."

". . . I love it."

He turned to her with a look of confusion. She laughed at his response.

"Adorable curls were, for some reason, the last thing I expected."

"Adorable, gah, more like impossible, completely untamable. And what exactly did you expect? Or were you just hoping for the worst?"

"I may have considered the idea of you being a ginger, you know, for a good dose of irony."

"Hmm, now that would have been a true genetic anomaly. A half black kid running around with white skin and red hair. People would think I was the Antichrist- not a bad idea actually."

Sara spun to the side, putting herself in front of him. "So, not only did you not feel the need to tell us that Lisa's your half sister, but you also left out the bit about being mixed? I'm beginning to think you just don't like us much, Crook."

He shrugged, saying that it never came up.

"Dammit, Snart, I was in here for answers, not to be told your version of the truth." Sara said, crossing her arms in frustration.

"Well, I'll tell you what, Bird, the next time you have a question about my colorful past or genes, you can ask me instead of relying on the very untrustworthy machine." He stepped up to the screen once more, retrieving the files that Sara had been looking at earlier. He tabbed through much faster than she had before, finding the image in question almost immediately. "Not only does she let other parties know of your snooping, she stores false data. This," he taps on the blurry security photo from '94, "was not, and never will be, me. Delete it please, Gideon." He paused, back still turned, before addressing the assassin again, "You'll just have to return the favor."

He flicked past a few more until he felt her standing next to him, though 'leaning on' may have fit better, seeing that he could feel the complete outline of her taut body against his back, side, and leg. He was about to make a quip about her perceived misunderstanding of personal space when he felt several warm, curious fingers move along his scalp, through his close cropped hair. He froze, looking at her out of the side of his eye. She smiled at knowing she had distracted him.

"Hmm, it's softer than I thought," she murmured in his ear.

She withdrew her hand and turned on her heel, walking towards the entry, but only made it a few steps before she was gripped by the arm and spun back towards him forcefully. He growled, there faces now closer than they had been during her intrusion, "Lance, what did I say?" He lifted his free hand and treated her to a wicked smirk before dropping his tone lower, softer. "You've got to return the favor," he laced his hand through the locks of blonde hair on the side of her shocked face, marveling at the feeling. A moment later, once Sara's brain caught up to what was happening around her, and not just the musk-mint scent that was pouring off of him, she launched forward onto her toes in a split second decision to try and close the distance between his lips and hers, wanting to taste what she had smelled. But he was gone, turned and gliding out the door before she made it to him. She caught her balance well before she actually lost it, but scowled in a form eerily similar to that of the man who had left and cursed him for always needing a dramatic exit. But then she smiled, dragging her hand through the hair he had mussed. _Maybe next time._

 **A/N**

 **Jeez, this pairing will not leave me alone. But I'm kinda okay with it.**

 **I fully acknowledge that I stole bits from W. Miller for Captain Cold because I love them both and Wentworth is a fascinating person/actor/writer.**

 **Please review, especially if you would read a companion piece.**

 **I need more of this show as soon as possible, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel by writing my own fics.**


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